My first day in Sydney, and all those other days that didn't count.

The past 6 days.

My plane ride from Wellington to Sydney was a breeze. The air was very calm and only allowed for one bout of "Oh my God the plane is going to crash!", which made a nice change and meant that I could sort of enjoy my flight. Being poor meant that I was actually looking forward to the meal that was served on the plane and I chose the steamed fish with cous cous over the lamb curry which the man next to me seemed to enjoy a lot (who thought of serving curry, renowned for all it's FRAGRANT spices, on a small confined plane?). Arriving in at Sydney airport, I remembered it very vividly from the first day that I arrived here in Australia, mainly because of the big duty free you have to walk through to get to customs, trying to entice you to spend even more money. I was thoroughly impressed that whilst waiting at the carousel for my luggage, my bag was the very first bag that came round. I don't think this has happened to anybody ever!

I called the shuttle company once I'd gotten into the arrivals area as instructed and was told to wait near the adjacent McDonalds where a driver would arrive with my name on a sign. So I parked myself and sat looking at everyone and deciding whether or not they were visiting or whether this was home. Many shuttle drivers came, and approached those around me leading them off in various directions, but there was no sign of my driver. I watched an elderly couple, maybe in their 60's/70's, an old lady who didn't say much who looked a little scruffy with her straggly gray hair pulled tightly into a pony tail, and her husband I assume, with equally unkept curly hair under a baseball cap, and a beer belly the size of Queensland, I watched them eat a burger each and get up before proceeding to me to ask me for "a spare dollar for a burger". I politely said that I had no change and they went on their way, asking other people on their way to the exit.

One hour passed and the strange couple (who I'd watched have another burger AND an ice cream cone each) had asked me twice more for a spare dollar and all the faces waiting for shuttle pick ups had changed. I decided to call the company again who assured me the driver was on his way, but stuck in traffic and there was no ETA. I was getting a little frustrated at this point, just because they should have factored traffic into the equation, and I'm sure it didn't take an hour to get from the drivers last point of call to the airport. Still, I had no choice but to wait. I got myself a frozen coke from McDonalds and stepped outside to get a little air. The strange looking couple came up to me once more, asking me for a spare dollar for a burger and at this point I lost it with them, telling them 'where to go' and  pointing out the fact that I'd watched them eat two burgers each in the past hour. They said nothing and moved on asking the next group of people. But at least they didn't ask me again whilst I was waiting. This is why there are always signs saying 'Do not feed the pigeons'...

I think an hour and a half had passed by now. I watched out the window as a man without a leg walked past on his crutches and I wondered if the accident had been recent and that was the reason that he didn't have a prosthetic replacement. I sunk down on the table feeling hot and tired and unattractive, when the same man approached me and I noticed his ASN shuttle polo shirt. He asked if I was Kim and said he just had to find somebody else before we could go. As amused as I was about the one legged driver, I was more concerned about having to lift my suitcase into the back of a shuttle. I had been looking forward to someone talking the thing off my hands, especially with the amount of weight I had in my rucksack and handbag. He found the other person, an Asian man, and whilst the driver was on the phone to someone, the Asian man told me that he'd had a phone call earlier saying that they'd found his cousins body in Christchurch. I just didn't know what to say. Thankfully, this guy put my suitcase in the back of the van for me and we were on our way.

I forgot to mention, what added to my annoyance was once inside the van, the driver asked me where I was going, and when I told him I had supplied the company with the address for my destination when I'd booked the service, he laughed and said he didn't know where we were going, and he didn't know where Greenwich Village Accommodation. The whole thing was beginning to take the form of a really crap joke.

We arrived at Greenwich Village Accommodation some time later. My heart had sank a little because I'd caught a glimpse of the Opera House, but then realised that we'd driven a hell of a way from it. The building looked quite seventies, but I assumed that was typical student halls. As I walked through the carpark

My few days here were not enjoyable. The first night, I deliberately didn't drink anything so that I wouldn't have to go in the bathroom (they were an absolute state. Filth and hair and mold and damp and one blocked loo and spiders), and when I woke up the next morning, I nearly fainted. I could barely move and felt very sick and exhausted and figured that I was quite dehydrated, especially with being in the heat all night. The internet only worked in the common area, so whilst everyone was in class I would go downstairs during the day and sit on my laptop trying to find somewhere else to stay, before having my prison dinner and running back into my room and hiding. I watched a lot of films, and didn't get very much sleep at all. Thankfully, once my Dad saved me again by booking me into a hotel and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, I began to see the funny side of the situation and just watched a lot of films before GLADLY moving out first thing Sunday morning.

I took advantage of the hot breakfast before I left. Cheap ham that was supposed to be bacon, a watery egg, a slice of bread and some spaghetti. But after that, I called a cab and got the hell outta there. I was glad that the driver didn't say anything to me because I wasn't in any mood to make small talk. I was very apprehensive about the new place I was moving to, simply because I haven't had a lot of luck so far. We arrived in a residential area at Glenferrie Lodge. The place looked tall and that was all I could really say about it on first impression. My fare came to $18.90 on the metre, so when the driver asked me for $23 I replied with my 'errmmmm.....' that I tend to do. I asked him how he figured that out and he apologised and repeated "18.90". I can't believe he thought I was THAT stupid!

Being a tall building and with reception up on the second floor, there were quite a few steps. I grabbed hold of my suitcase with one hand and the railing with the other and managed to haul everything up with some difficulty. I told the guy at reception that I knew I was early (Check in was 2pm, and it was 10:20) and he said my room wasn't ready, but told me there was a TV room I was welcome to wait in. I bought a can of lemonade from the vending machine inside the hotel and sat down and watched the news, all about Japan. The hotel is not really a hotel like a Hyatt or an Ibis. It's sort of like two town houses connected together with walkways and a garden, with a dining area and small TV area, a small reception in the hallway and then a lot of rooms and communal bathrooms. It seemed clean enough though. The only downside was that there wasn't any AC, but I suppose that's a very small price to pay for cleanliness and security. The reception man found me about an hour later and told me my room was ready. I put my signature on some paper and he explained about breakfast and where things were. I asked him about the internet and he said that time cards had to be used straight away once activated and that 24 hours access was £20 a day. I grumbled to myself. He then noticed my ohm tattoo. He asked me whether or not I knew what it meant because it was the symbol of 'his Gods' and I explained that I was raised Hindu by my mother. I could see his face light up and he carried on asking where I grew up and such and such. He then said, 'Tell you what', and told me that he'd give me the internet for $10 a day, so I told him how kind that was and scurried on to my room like a grateful mouse who'd been given a block of edam to herself. Praise be to Lord Shiva!

My room was small. Ground floor with the bathrooms right nearby. Single bed with a nightstand and a lamp. A small dressing table with mirror, and a TV in one corner with a fridge underneath. There was a ceiling fan too. I noticed the window was wide open, and although it had bars to stop intruders getting in, bars certainly wouldn't stop invaders getting in so I quickly shut the window. The only downside was a couple of marks on the wall next to the bed which look like blood and I think that they're squashed mosquito's, and there was a large cobweb up in one of the corners of the high ceiling, but I caught a Chinese man hoovering in the hallway and asked him to come and get it for me. I trashed the place immediately (when I say trashed the place, I mean I emptied out my bags and put my things so that they covered every inch of table top and put my shoes on the floor by my bed. You know, to make it feel mine).

It was coming up to 12 and I'd broken my headphones that morning so I set off to find a market. I was obsessed with finding a market because I wanted to spend a little cash. I'd seen a sign whilst in the taxi pointing to the Kirribilli Wharf, so I retraced the way and found the place where you get the ferry into the CBD around 2 minutes away from the hotel. There were a few people waiting there, and so I approached an older couple with their granddaughter and asked how you pay for the ferry and they explained there's a ticket machine at the other side where you can get your ticket to exit the terminal. The lady gave me her timetable and said it was very lucky that I'd turned up when I did, because on a Sunday the ferry's run hourly. I made small talk with the man about England and before long the ferry turned up. A big old looking green and yellow thing. You walk down a runway sort of thing and the ferry pulls up as close as it can and they put a little bridge between the boat and the runway for you to step across. I immediately started panicking that the walkway was going to fall into the water and I'd drown, especially as the water seemed to be quite rough, bobbing up and down like a crazy. There's lots of seats inside and some benches around the outside of the ship, so I opted for an outdoor seat so that I could get a good view of what was going on. It was a glorious day. Blue skies and hot sun beaming down and gently toasting my shoulders. The ferry makes a few stops around the bay area in amongst all the private little boats and yachts before returning to Kirribilli and then driving over to Circular Quay, which is the big ferry port where they all go. The whole thing takes around 15 minutes.

I was starting to feel a little queasy with all the motion as it's been a long time since I was on a boat. It all went away though when I caught sight of the Opera House. The ferry motors right past it towards harbour bridge before turning into Circular Quay. It was a spectacular sight. It's one of those things that you don't actually think that you'll get to see in your lifetime and it really did move me to see it with my own eyes. I found it so odd that people live and work by it and probably don't give it a second thought, but there again I suppose it's only like Big Ben or parliament in London. When we pulled into Circular Quay, I managed to get a ticket from the ticket machine and exited, not knowing where the hell I was going. I was expecting to be on a high street of some kind, but it was odd. Lots of stalls and newsagents and a Hungry Jacks and then if you walked to the left towards the Opera House there were bars and cafes. I headed forward to see if I could try and find a crowd to follow, but instead was presented by a lot of bus stops. Co incidentally, a bus drove past me and pulled up just a few metres away which was the 555, the free bus, so thinking what luck I quickly boarded it and thought I'd just ride it about.

I'd heard people saying that they were getting off at Chinatown and so I thought I'd follow suit. Sydney city seemed a lot different to Melbourne. It was bigger and with a lot more going on, and less of the cute back alleys and easy to follow grid based streets. It seemed to have less of an identity as it just reminded me of London, but without the garish red buses and smog. The bus didn't say anywhere what stop we were at each time people departed the bus, but I figured I was on the money when all the Asian people stood up to disembark. The street I got onto was exceptionally crowded with tourists. There were a lot of people holding signs with painted symbols, but I noticed one in English that was anti communist. I was offered around five different leaflets and let the crowds sort of take me one way like a current in the ocean. I walked to a corner and took a right when I saw a big sign on the corner of a large building that looked like a disused factory that read "MARKET CITY" (Remember what I was looking for? A Market? Well, I found a whole city!). I felt very pleased with myself that I'd found what I was looking for without even trying!

Market city was in fact a shopping centre, with a big food court and market and lots of clothes shops and outlet shops all on three floors. I took a leisurely stroll about, going into various shops and looking interested like I was going to buy something. Little did they know I'm poor and have no money! I noticed an escalator leading downwards to a place called 'Paddy's Market', which is a huge covered market that I'd read about in my guide to Sydney I'd picked up for free at the airport. The place was huge, with rows and rows of market stalls. Albeit as with most markets, you get ten different stalls selling to types of things, but still. I took a very slow walk meandering about, stopping off at souvenir stalls and stalls that looked a bit ethnic and hippy. I managed to pick up most of my presents for people back home as well as some cheap clothes for myself. I left the market feeling very satisfied with my buys. I walked back to where the 555 had dropped me off and just as I arrived, a bus showed up and I rode it back to Circular Quay.

It was only 3pm and the day was still gorgeous so I thought I'd stroll down the side of the ferry port towards the Opera House. Here were all the expensive bars that I could picture the suits frequenting on a Friday night after a hard weeks work. And above these were tall executive looking apartments all with balconies that gave you a great view on what was going on. And I bet they cost an absolute fortune. I carried on walking, right up to the Opera House. It was so full of character, with it's quirky acoustical structure and little square panels on it's slightly yellow tinted roof. I walked right down to the back of the Opera House and came back again, trying to get a picture of myself with it in the background. I must of looked like an idiot with my camera upside down and my arm outstretched, because a kind man who was walking past came up to me chuckling and asked if I'd like him to take the picture for me. I said that would be most helpful and pulled a big cheesy grin for the photo. Along side the Opera House, on a level down a little closer to the water, there was a bar, with lots of voices chatting loudly over a live band and clinking glasses. I decided to go down and investigate and ended up buying a $9 glass of Rose. All the tables were taken, but along the water side was a long seated area with cushions, so I grabbed a spot and enjoyed my rose in the sunshine, listening to the music diffuse into the atmosphere. This was one of the moments were you have to smile and realise how God damned lucky you are to be doing what you're doing. I tried to get another picture of myself with the harbour bridge behind me and a girl at a table nearby saw me again struggling so offered to take the picture. I drank my wine slowly, slowly enough that the last drop was no longer ice cold but lukewarm instead. Just savouring the sounds and the sights and the smells.

As the time for my ferry approached, remembering that there was only one every hour, I hurried back to the ferry port, stopping to get a Hungry Jacks to take back to my room and a $6 (Yes, $6) bottle of spring water to keep in my room. I rode the ferry back to Kirribilli and decided to have an early night ready for another good day tomorrow, making full use of the great transportation, my lifeline to the city.